


Scales and Balance

by svecounia



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:13:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svecounia/pseuds/svecounia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm sure there's plenty there that she'll take to her grave, to Valhalla, to wherever the hell all these crazy war boys think they're headed now, but that Ace knows more than any of us." <br/>Ace lives, Furiosa heals, Toast flourishes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scales and Balance

**Author's Note:**

> For littlemissfundip on Tumblr for Mad Max Secret Santa 2015. She liked the relationship between Furiosa and Ace and a post-movie Ace that's alive to enjoy it, so that's what she's getting (plus a twist of Toast). Working title was "JUSTICE FOR ACE," all capslock, because he deserves it. I hope you had a lovely holiday and please enjoy!!

Of course there was no fanfare upon his return. He didn't want any, he hadn't earned it, nor had he earned it the dozen or so other times he'd staggered back to the Citadel to tell tales of his brothers' glorious ascents to Valhalla. Was this his fate, to deliver their tales but never become legend himself? He supposed that wasn't so bad if he twisted and warped his jealousy far enough. The dying boys in the blood shed pawed at him and begged for details, their bodies weak but eyes alight at the thought of a historic chase like none other in history.

"Why'd she do it, Ace?"

"What'd she say to you?"

"So it was a _complete secret?_ You didn't suspect a thing?"

He growled and waved them all away under the pretense of a headache. To survive an Imperator's betrayal with naught but a broken nose was practically a miracle, and not one he bore proudly. When he couldn't answer the boys' questions, what had started as bright interest turned cold with suspicion. He was her ace, he was _supposed_ to know. He was supposed to catch this kind of scheme in the works and report it to the Immortan, he'd be a hero, he'd be honored.

Instead he was nothing. 

No Imperator, no crew – all dead, he expected, a gift that continually eluded him, and this time he couldn't even bear witness – and for the moment even no Immortan. That part he was grateful for, and shame seared him at the thought of it. But he'd be thrown out when the Immortan returned and discovered his oversights, turned loose in the desert to be picked at by wild dogs or run through with Buzzard spears for sport. 

He should have been the one to discover Furiosa's treachery and instead he'd been too blinded by loyalty to notice. His role model since she'd barely reached his shoulder – how was he to let go of that so easily? Her courage and her prowess even as a war boy had burned like the sun, like a brand, searing and unforgettable. And when she surpassed even him in rank, she looked back and demanded he be made her first. He too had burned in that moment, not just with pride, but with admiration. That was one he'd follow to Valhalla, no matter how long it took. 

But she'd taken off without him. She'd saw the road open before her, and she deemed him unfit to travel. No matter how many missions, journeys, recons, this one he'd somehow been unprepared for. 

He tried to hate her. For two days he told himself that she was a traitor, not just to him but to the Immortan, the image of their very way of life. But all he could summon up was despair and regret that he hadn't been the confidant he thought he'd been. He had never been her partner after all.

Just as his disappointment had begun to sour into rage, she stumbled onto the platform and was raised up.

"No, you can't see her today."

"I was told two days," he growled menacingly, taking a step towards the door, but somehow the shortest wife had no shortage of presence and she stepped easily into his path to block him.

"Two days _if_ she made improvement. She hasn't. Get moving."

"Listen, _breeder,_ I've a better handle on her state than—"

"Than a Vuvalini healer?" the wife demanded, flushing at the mention of her station, and Ace's lip curled. "Vuvalini" meant nothing to him, was that meant to impress or intimidate?

"I'm her first—"

"You _were_ her first, and now you're just an anonymous war boy like the rest of them. And an old one at that," she sneered with a rake of her eyes up and down at him. Her hand was on a silver revolver at her side, long and shiny, nothing like what would have been issued to any war boy. "Now _get moving."_

"V8 help you when you lose your grip on this place," he said under his breath, but stripped of his weapons by the newcomers on account of "inventory" – a likely excuse, _she_ was armed, wasn't she? – he was in no position to argue further. He didn't dare touch one of the Immortan's breeders, even now, even when there was no Immortan.

"Haven't you heard?" Toast's derisive tone echoed down the stone walls as he stalked off. "V8's left you behind. You might as well forget him for good."

Furiosa did ask after him though, on the following day, and Ace's lip curled as he strode past Toast. "Touch her and I'll break your jaw to match your nose," she hissed as he passed. 

She was there, crumpled and battered almost beyond recognition. Not because of her wounds – he'd seen her bloodied up plenty of times before – but because he'd never seen the fight beaten out of her like this. After a hard run she used to take an evening or an afternoon to herself, but there was a spark in her eye that said it was only for a moment, she was tending the embers to stoke them back into a roar. There was no spark when she looked at him now. He clutched her hand and the grunt she forced out was the only thing that kept the weather-worn woman on the other side of the bed from leaping at him for it. They were permitted to protect her, but not him. They tended at her bedside. He was rebuffed by armed breeders. 

"Glad you made it," she rasped before dissolving into a rattling, hacking cough that made him draw back in alarm.

"Don't talk," he said gruffly. "Need you on your feet in a few days, gotta rest up while you can."

"She'll be up when she's ready," snapped the old woman, and Ace flicked his eyes to her. What did she know? Did she know it was his job to motivate when the Boss could not? Did she know he was the bridge between her orders and action? Did she know that _he_ was to give command when she couldn't? 

"Gotta make an appearance one way or another, 'less you want another Immortan on your hands." When he looked at Furiosa, she didn’t look Immortan. Maybe in his final moments, neither had Joe. "What'll they think if you wait to deliver her whole and healthy?" 

They took his advice. Reluctantly. Bandaged, bruised, but better rested, Furiosa met with the war boys. She didn't speak much, and Ace knocked them in the back of the head when they asked too many questions or the pups got too rowdy. The excitement was tough to deny: their whole worldview had changed and they'd latch onto anything that looked like it'd fill the void. The young ones were convinced she was a hero, she'd seen Valhalla and rejected it, come back just to create it at the Citadel instead. The older, sick ones knew she was not Immorta, there'd probably never been any Immorta to start with, but she sat quietly with them in the blood shed and they found themselves in her. 

"They need training," Ace said to the old Vuvalini. Erika. She nodded in silence, shoulders tense, though not because he was so nearby: convinced they shared a common goal, she'd let up on him a bit. Toast hadn't.

"Gas Town and Bullet Farm'll be along before too long. They're not fool enough to have sent out their entire parties – always looking for an opening, they were," he went on. Erika sighed after a long moment's consideration.

"Well, she's in no shape." She jerked her head towards Furiosa, who was resting beside a war boy on the way out and exchanging murmured words and sympathetic, brittle smiles. "But I know someone who is."

"Stuff it," Ace growled at her. "I'm not taking that on, half of 'em are pups barely in their boots. Desert sand'll tear their skin to shreds."

"And? How do you expect them to get all beat up and callused like you? Desperate times." There was a note of finality in the old woman's voice. "I can ask you, or you can wait for Furiosa to ask you. And you know she'll be ashamed if she has to admit she can't do it herself."

Ace scuffed the stone floor with the toe of his boot. "Things ran a lot smoother 'round here when we kept the women locked up," he grumbled. Erika cackled. 

Capable handpicked the first crew. "Good for a start, right?" She looked up at him from beneath stringy bangs that'd been pushed back too many times by grease-slicked fingers. Ace only grunted in reply. He wouldn't have chosen words like "good" or "start" or "right." A handful of twelve boys of varying ages – some pups, some greenthumbs from the spires above, two sickly blood shed boys looking for any kind of glory that might be left for them, and Toast.

"Not her," Ace said, jerking a thumb at Toast, and she bristled at once.

"I can shoot better than any of these clowns," she snapped. One of the older war boys barked a laugh.

"You're better off playing guard somewhere, not out in the wastes. Maybe take up some useful employment like your sister here."

"I tried fixing cars. Didn't like it. I'd rather blow them up."

"The goal is actually to _salvage_ them, so—"

"Just get it done," Capable interrupted exasperatedly. "We don't have the resources to be choosy or the time for bickering."

"Ah, Queen Capable's orders," Toast said with an easy shrug and a mocking smile before Ace could object further. "Let's go."

Motorbikes revved and peeled out into the sand within the hour. Furiosa sat up in her Imperator's quarters, frowning, but Cheedo hushed her and eased her back against the headboard.

"Come on, you need to finish eating and rest, you're meeting with the Milking Mothers this afternoon, remember?"

"Who's riding out?" Furiosa asked gruffly. Cheedo, who weeks ago would have cringed away at the tone, whose breath would have died in her throat, was placid-faced and calm as she tested the swelling near Furiosa's healing eye. Furiosa hissed and drew back. 

"Ace is taking some of the pups out," Cheedo said. "And a few war boys." And Toast, but she wouldn't dare mention that. Better to beg forgiveness—

"A recon?"

"Training. No one's spotted activity from Gas Town or the Bullet Farm in days, the Milk Mothers are still on rotation on the scopes. Don't worry," she smiled. "We're creating something here. No harm in preparing to protect it."

So it became Capable's and Cheedo's and the Dag's collective task to keep Furiosa occupied during trainings. "Let's check those bandages now, and how about we try some stretches?" "The climb to the gardens was taxing, better to rest now and work through the night." "You're not moving an inch until you finish your meal." Her trust in Ace was a great advantage: they learned he'd had a hand in training her, so the quality wasn't in question. But it wasn't the training itself that called for secrecy, but rather its participants. They knew there'd be hell to pay if Furiosa discovered Toast was among the boys, covered in dust and sweat like the rest of them, the Immortan's revolver shining at her hip. There'd be hell to pay if Furiosa discovered Toast following her path.

And she was. The boy who'd laughed at her for bragging about her shot, Buckler, was the first to clap her on the back when she sniped her first practice target. Lattice was a greenthumb with uncommonly flexible fingers, and he set admirable traps that Ace said even a Buzzard would struggle to spot. Scorch was a spitfire pup with a vicious burn across his shoulder. Pyka didn't speak much but was a devil on a motorbike. Spare was the other ill war boy who'd come with Buckler; he missed no opportunity to joke about how he'd been "spared" Valhalla. "Not again, though," he grinned with a jab over his shoulder at the Citadel in the middle distance. "Not while we're creating it right here." 

Ace watched her fall into line much to his surprise and, to an extent, his chagrin. He'd hoped for a reason to kick her off the crew, but it seemed her willingness to learn outweighed her limitless reserves of spite. It was a defense, he was quick to realize as he saw the way she relaxed with a weapon in her hand. Disarmed, she made her own knives with words. Trusted to take care of herself, she extended her protection to others.

"Not too bad today, eh, old man?" She punched him in the shoulder – well, more like the elbow, she was so short – on their way back from the garage. In front of the other boys, she took orders well enough, but between the two of them she was much more casual. Their shared connection with Furiosa made her brave. It raked against Ace, but not as badly as it had in the first few rounds of training. And what was his alternative, scold her and watch her hiss and spit? He preferred her obedient when he needed it. 

"Spare pushes himself too hard. Might have him spend a few days in the shed."

"You can't," Toast warned him, eyes wide. "He'd be mortified, plus Cheedo said most of the blood bags are rotated out right now. Put him with Lattice next time, he drives smooth." 

"And leave Bolt with Pyka? I'm not tryin' to blow us all up."

They carried on down the rocky hallway debating driver-lancer teams, oblivious to Furiosa standing on a carved balcony just above their heads, face stony, teeth gritted, heart cold. There was the shuffling of footsteps, then Erika appeared behind her looking harried.

"Toast asked specifically," she tried to explain as soothingly as possible. "You know she's no good up in the gardens and you know she knows her way 'round a gun, it was a waste of talent not to let her go." 

"And no one had time to tell me."

"You know your focus needs to be on recovery—"

 _"He_ concealed this from me," Furiosa cut her off. "My own second." She snorted bitterly. "I know I haven't set the best example of loyalty, but I expected more. From all of you."

"Then you were being ignorant," Erika said bluntly, and Furiosa's scowl deepened. "We need our best people out there, men _and_ women. You wanted an equal Citadel. Doesn't seem wise to prioritize one life over another, does it?"

"I didn't risk everything just for her to go out and do the same," Furiosa growled. "She is safe here—"

"No safer than the rest of us. And for what? So you can pat yourself on the back and say you kept her hidden, safe, secluded? Sound familiar?" Furiosa's eyes widened but Erika pressed onward, refusing to back down despite Furiosa's mounting rage. "You risked everything for their _choices,_ not for their safety. This is her choice, and a damn good one if you ask me."

_"It was hidden from me—"_

"To keep you from making your own ignorant choices," Erika snapped. "You can't stifle a young woman's growth because you fear what she will become. Look what she has, look what surrounds her. It is _nothing_ like what you endured—"

"You have no idea what I endured!" Furiosa roared. Erika stepped back with a firm nod, her gaze dark and warning. 

"No. Perhaps not." Through the boil of her anger, Furiosa felt the slightest prick of regret and shame. She wanted nothing more than to tear her eyes from Erika's, but she refused to back down – either that, or the old Vuvalini refused to let her go. "But you might want to think about the world you create when _you_ set _her_ limitations." She gave Furiosa one final glance, and it was all Furiosa could do to keep from buckling under the weight of its disappointment. 

Ace didn't call training the following day, nor the next, nor the one after that. "Council meetings?" Capable guessed when Toast asked – there wasn't much that went on in the Citadel that Capable didn't know about.

"Oh, he's not hurt, is he?" Cheedo sighed when Toast found her in the blood shed. "He's so weird about blood bags, usually refuses them until he's almost totally run down. I think he feels guilty for having relied on them for so many years."

"Haven't seen him up here," said the Dag, to which Toast could only roll her eyes. Obviously Ace wouldn't have taken a sudden interest in irrigation, she was more wondering if Dag'd heard anything from the pups that tended the gardens, maybe some chatter they'd picked up when no one thought they were listening. The greenthumbs weren't a sneaky bunch, but it was easy to forget they existed compared to the incessant clamor of a more standard issue war boy. "While you're here, take these down to the Mothers for tonight's stew."

So, arms full with a basket of potatoes and an errand she hadn't asked for, Toast picked her way down the stairs connecting the inner passageways to the North Spire. Nothing for it. She'd ask Furiosa. 

But her quest for Ace and her new resolution to confront Furiosa met the same endpoint: Meggie was just shutting Furiosa's door behind her, and Toast could just make out Ace's broad-shouldered silhouette before it closed. Meggie sighed and shook her head with a pointed glance at Toast. "Your little secret has riled her up. She argued with Erika the other day."

Toast winced. "There was no easy way to tell her," she began, but abandoned the excuse before pursuing it further. What was done was done; she'd behaved selfishly, recklessly, and she dragged Ace into the mix. "What's going on?"

Meggie's lips were dry and cracked, never quite healed from the years in the wasteland, but she licked them out of habit as she considered. "The bond between an Imperator and her second," she began, then shook her head again. "I can't get my head around it, girl, I'll admit it. And he's a special one too, at his age. You saw how he was when we first brought her in, how protective and worried, even knowing she'd betrayed them."

"Yeah, and she's almost fully healed, and she knows we need good, talented people out there protecting what we've built—"

"And she knows what it takes to accomplish that. But for you to risk your life after what she did to protect it…that's tough to swallow. Do you know her whole story?"

Toast drew breath to speak, but no, she could never claim to know _all_ of it. She shook her head.

"Me neither. Knew her up till she was fourteen or so, but she's seen more in the days in between than I have across all my days total, I'd wager. I'm sure there's plenty there that she'll take to her grave, to Valhalla, to wherever the hell all these crazy war boys think they're headed now, but that Ace knows more than any of us. Trained her up and watched her surpass him – can you imagine? And then she finds out _he's_ the one secretly positioning you to do the same?" Meggie nodded at the door, her eyebrows raised in sympathy. "She's wrong to keep you away, but I can see why she'd be upset."

"I should have just told her," Toast muttered, scuffing the toe of her boot in the dirt. "At least pretended to ask or something."

"I don't know about that. She's playing Imperator in a world where she no longer fits the job description, and frankly I don't think she wants to. We're all learning new lessons here. We're all adapting."

It was Toast's turn to sigh this time and she leaned against the rock wall. "Think they'll be in there long?"

"They met yesterday, too. Of course she won't tell me a thing, but if you want to wait…"

Toast did. She handed off the potatoes to Meggie, who gave her a sly, spritely kind of smile and what might have been a wink before heading off down the hall. The Imperators' quarters were quiet – of course they were quiet, no one lived there except Furiosa anymore – and there was no way to keep track of the passing time within the fortified stone walls except the thickening scent of vegetable stew in the air that wafted up from the kitchens below. Not a sound came from behind Furiosa's door, which Toast chose to take as a sign that they at least weren't arguing. She wished she couldn't imagine a scene in which Ace actually shouted at Furiosa, but the usual chain of command had kind of gone out the window the second Joe died. Toast drew his old revolver to pass the time, spinning the chamber, twirling it on her finger, until she was startled from her vigil by the sudden crack of the door.

Ace was silent, and Toast couldn't hear Furiosa's final words over the shuffle of her own stupid feet as she scrambled to stand up and stow away her gun, and before she knew it Ace was already shutting the door again. 

"Well?" she demanded. "What'd she say, should I go in and apologize? I wish you'd said something before taking off—" but she stopped short when Ace wouldn't meet her eyes, too busy staring down at the ring of metal in his hands.

A skull, flames, wreathed in iron and embellished with dangling chains, still swinging even as Ace stood motionless in front of the door. An Imperator's emblem. 

Ace looked up as though noticing Toast for the first time and he cleared his throat. "She promoted me."

Toast had been a Wife of the Immortan. So too had Furiosa. True, Toast didn't know her whole story, but she knew enough to know that Furiosa didn't become an Imperator because she'd wanted to. She did it to survive. It wasn't a station to be admired or pursued, just won for the sake of security, and if on some level Furiosa really did enjoy the roar of an engine or the fly of a lance for what they were, not just for the brief snatches of freedom they afforded her, then all the better. But Ace wasn't a wife, or a full-life, or young, or any of the other qualities that might have set him apart as poised for the title. And yet here he was, worthier than all that came before him, too awestruck to believe the title he'd deserved all along. 

Toast could only grin, and she laced her fingers together in front of her face in a small V8.


End file.
